


we are family

by ninemoons42



Series: Padmé Lives to Tell the Tale [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amidala family feels, Gen, Luke and Leia are precious and precocious, Padmé Amidala Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padmé faces her fears for her children head-on, and is granted some insight into their young minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are family

**Author's Note:**

> Luke and Leia are about five years old in this story.

Footsteps in her dreams, and barely-there glimpses of grasping twisted hands, and she was _tired_ and she needed to _sleep_ and her mind would not let her -- and now she could hear quiet murmurs, rising and falling, and she could escape -- she didn’t have to listen to that haunted rattling for breath -- 

Padmé tightened her grip on the blaster that she now carried in her sleeve at all times, and she took scant comfort in its now-familiar weight and immediately felt a piercing needy sadness -- and waking, she was waking, she could heave a deep and unashamed breath of pure relief and there were voices murmuring nearby: she’d recognize Sabé’s voice anywhere, and then two sweet high-pitched voices lilting with her -- 

She sat up, and the foot of her bunk was occupied by Sabé and the twins and the battered slate that threw pale light into their faces. 

“Mama,” Luke lisped, immediately, and she was ready to catch him as he lunged the length of the bed and managed to land more or less in her lap. A gap-toothed smile. His blond hair darkening at the roots. The chubby stars of his hands, warm against her dream-chilled skin. “Bad dreams,” he said, mournfully, looking up at her. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

“You’re making me feel better already,” Padmé told him in all honesty, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, let him wrap his arms around her. The bright beating pulse of him against her skin was nothing but weapons-grade comfort. 

And there was another warm presence tucking itself into her side. The scent of crushed cloudflowers, the strands of wavy dark hair: and this was her Leia, her little Leia, steady and quiet and sure as she began to read out loud from the slate. A bantha that was missing its hat, that was visiting its fellow beings to ask them where that hat could be found -- Padmé listened indulgently as Leia tried to deepen her voice to imitate a happabore, tried to gnash her teeth to imitate a rancor, and throughout, rough and childish and unmistakable, the Naboo accent that reminded Padmé so much of the home that they couldn’t risk returning to.

It was all she could do to bite back the tears.

More movement around her, and she looked up, and she tried to smile back.

Dormé with a tray in her hands and Sabé returning with a blanket in hers. 

“How long before we need to make the next supply run?” Padmé asked as she gratefully accepted a shallow, many-times-dented bowl. Maybe the soup was more watery than it ought to be, but it was steaming hot and it was pure comfort and drinking from the rim of the bowl was more difficult than it had to be, because she wanted to gulp at the soup and she didn’t want to burn her taste buds away. 

Dormé passed Luke a small sandwich and Sabé took the slate from Leia’s hands. 

“Another four days or so. We’ll be in less hostile territory then. Remember that planet with the permanent aurora belts around the south pole?”

Padmé nodded as she remembered a small bunker, sturdy and built into the side of a snow-capped mountain. She remembered oddly colorful drapes on the walls and she remembered a bed that wasn’t big enough for herself and two squalling infants. She remembered pulling a rickety chair up to the small window and nursing Luke, then Leia, in the blue and green shifting polar lights. “It’s been a long while since we were last there,” she said. 

“These ones weren’t even teething when we had to leave the last time,” Dormé said around several sips from an equally battered cup. “We should be safe now, though. Last communication we had from Kenobi, he’d managed to fortify the surrounding area. He’s waiting for us there; I should let him know we need to get more supplies in.”

She looked like she would get up and leave, and Padmé didn’t want to protest because her presence was a comfort and she was still shivering from the rampant fears in her dreams, when -- 

“Dormé,” Luke said, clinging to her sleeve with both hands. “Don’t go.”

“I’ve things to do, little,” she said, but she pulled him into her lap anyway, grinned back at him mischievously. “You just want me to brush your hair. You’re as fond of the brush as your sister is.”

“It feels nice when you do that,” Leia said around her own mouthful of sandwich. 

“Don’t talk when your mouth is full,” Sabé said as she dipped a cracker into her cup. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Padmé said, and she kissed her daughter’s hands, heedless of the crumbs. “We’ll have time to practice our table manners later on.”

“I like being a lady,” Leia said. “But not all the time.”

Sabé laughed. “Point taken.”

While it was Luke who nodded off first over his cup of milk and a few spoonfuls of tea, it was Leia who curled up into a little ball of warmth and the corner of a blanket -- and Padmé wished she had a way to record the expressions on her friends’ faces. Sabé looked on the verge of tears, and Dormé was smiling as though at a very small, very cuddly, very adorable pittin, and then Luke lurched into his sister’s space and fell asleep against her back.

“Wait for it,” Dormé laughed softly.

Whistling little snores.

Padmé covered her face with her hands, covered the tears in her eyes and the silly smile that crept onto her lips, and after a moment she settled enough to tuck the rest of the bedding in around her children. 

Out to the makeshift galley. The cramped corridors of the battered old freighter had no space even for a quiet conversation. She eyed a series of readouts and couldn’t make heads or tails of the current hyperspace calculations. “Where are we,” she whispered, eventually, over the metallic smell of lukewarm many-times-recycled water.

“We had to pass within a couple of parsecs of Kamino a day ago -- we wouldn’t have been able to get to the latest transmission drops otherwise,” Dormé said as she poured herself another cup of tea. 

“We still need to have someone check in on Chandrila,” and Sabé sounded like she was repeating a recent argument. 

“Fulcrum says the situation is under control.”

“Fulcrum also says, _trust no one_ ,” Sabé insisted.

“Tell me about Chandrila,” Padmé murmured, after a moment.

She watched the others exchange glances. Watched as Sabé took a deep breath. “There was an assassination attempt on Mon Mothma. Poison gas in her offices. Bail Organa got the word from Fulcrum, and he sent in a squad of agents to escort Mon Mothma to safety, but now she’s a little worried -- this is understandable -- and now she is contemplating having her entire staff replaced.”

Dormé put her cup down with a quiet thump. “When she asked us for suggestions she expressed regrets that she could not ask me, or Sabé, to join her security staff for the time being.” 

“I am sorry to be keeping you away from all of this,” Padmé began, after a moment. 

Sabé waved a hand. “No. You are not to apologize for anything. We keep you safe, Dormé and I. In the first place, we would not have the skills that Mon Mothma prizes if we hadn’t been trained to serve you.”

“Except that now it is not quite _service_ , wouldn’t you say?” Dormé said. “After all, we are all rebels together.”

“One of you could go back to Alderaan -- I’m sure I could manage -- ” Padmé said, touched by the silently affirmed loyalty.

“Maybe when the twins are a little older,” Sabé said as she sat down. “Maybe after they’ve had a little time to learn.”

Padmé sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had hoped to avoid this discussion.”

And she thought of waking up to Luke floating bits of metal around his chubby fingers, his eyes wide and entranced.

She thought of Leia bent to a different slate, one with complicated equations scrolling on the screen, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration _and_ a dawning understanding.

“I don’t think it’s something that you can _afford_ to avoid,” was the tart reply. “I don’t have the Force, and stars know I’m grateful for that. But maybe I’ve been thinking about the topic too much.”

“And we’ve been spending much time around a Jedi, more than any normal being might,” Dormé added. “Kenobi tried to explain it to us.”

“He says that eventually, a being who is Force-sensitive will find themselves _needing_ to be among those who can understand what they do -- if they can’t do that, they run a significant risk of going mad.”

“It only makes sense,” Dormé said, a little sadly.

“I can’t understand all the objections you might have, Padmé, I only know that I understand some of them. Not all of them, that would be impossible. And also, no one should be judging you for having them,” Sabé said.

“I should be trying to understand why I have these objections in the first place,” and Padmé sighed again. Touched her throat. Sometimes in her dreams she could still feel the hard weight of the Force as it wrapped around her neck, as it lifted her off the ground, as it kept her from taking a breath. “They’re my _children_.”

“We know,” Sabé said, looking down at her hands on the tiny galley table.

“And I will not allow them to be targeted.”

“We know,” Dormé said.

“Which means that -- even if I must object, and quail away from the idea myself -- the children need to train,” and oh how she had to squeeze her hands into fists just to get the words out. The memory of lava-light, and a sickly yellow gaze full of hatred.

She glanced at the surprise on the others’ faces. “You know why I objected,” Padmé said, a little sadly. “And you also know me -- well enough, I would hope -- to know what else I understand. Five years old is too young to be separated from family. At that age a child might not be able to accept the change in their situation. And yet I know that the Jedi took beings who were even younger. That sometimes infants were given to them, or turned over to them. Mere infants in their swaddling, who would then grow up knowing nothing of their original families.”

She reached out to the horror in the lines of Dormé’s face. “Kenobi left that part out of his explanation.”

“I learned it from -- from,” Padmé said, and waved her hand helplessly. “It wasn’t from the General.”

Sabé winced.

“It will just have to be one of the galaxy’s most painful ironies,” Padmé murmured. “I cannot reconcile the man who spent many of his spare hours in the creches, with the man who is even now scourging the galaxy of its Force-sensitives. Perhaps such a thing is not meant to be.”

“And _he_ is part of the reason why you object to the twins’ training.”

Padmé nodded. “He is, and yet we’ll have to train them. Or, Kenobi must do so. Luke and Leia are already starting to show us what they might be able to do. I don’t want them to be trained. But they must be guided and they must learn, and that is for their own protection, and for that I’ll swallow all my objections. I won’t stand in their way, though all my instincts scream at me to do otherwise.”

She got up and began to pace, though there really was no room in the galley for more than four steps coming and then four steps going. “So. This is what we’ll do. Fortunately we are already headed somewhere safe. We will have to make it safer, if we can -- and then we’ll simply have to drop out of sight. Kenobi and I and the twins, and one of you.”

“I’ll stay,” Dormé said, immediately.

“And I’ll go,” Sabé said. “Someone needs to be the backup for whenever Fulcrum does something foolish -- usually Fulcrum does the right thing, don’t get me wrong, but half the time the right thing is also the foolish thing to do.”

“Is there some way you can continue to protect us?” Padmé asked. 

“Certainly. False trails. Obfuscated data. I’ve done that before, I can do it again.” Sabé began to smile, and the smile began to take on a feral tint to it, as Padmé watched. “Don’t worry, Padmé, you’re still my priority, you and the children. I’ll be the very noisy, very colorful, very indiscreet lure in the trap. The trap that protects you and keeps you safe. You, and the kids, and Dormé. Kenobi can come too if he likes.”

Reluctantly, Padmé allowed herself to smile.

“More tea?” Dormé asked -- except that the last word was drowned out in a series of loud alerts.

“Not just proximity,” Sabé said, and she nearly leapt out of the galley with Dormé on her heels.

Padmé couldn’t control the runaway beat of her own heart as she hurried back to where the twins were sleeping. They were wrapped up in each other, now: Leia slept on her side, her cheek resting against one chubby hand while she held Luke close with the other. Luke for his part had both arms wrapped around Leia’s midsection. They breathed together, clung close to each other, and she was deeply, deeply envious of the calm that seemed to curl around them.

Footsteps behind her.

She didn’t turn around, only said quietly and firmly, “Hush.”

“They do sleep like nothing could ever disturb them,” Sabé said, gently. 

“Getting them to fall asleep at all is another matter entirely. What news?”

“Kenobi,” was the quick response. “Nothing to worry about. Some new hardware for the bunker, and he says he’s discovered something worth making into stew.” She made a face. “Stew is pretty much the only thing that man can cook.”

“I wouldn’t say no to stew on a snowbound night.”

“You won’t be saying that after ten days and nights of stew.”

Padmé shoved half-heartedly at Sabé’s shoulder. “It’s still food, it still means we won’t have to be eating ration bars. I refuse to subject my children to that indignity.”

“You say that now, you just wait.”

“Dropping out of hyperspace,” came Dormé’s voice from the general direction of the cockpit. “Everyone hold on to something.”

Padmé simply reached for one of the handholds they’d hammered into the many walls and corridors of the freighter, and watched as Sabé fell into a combat crouch, the knuckles of her right hand resting lightly on the scratched tiles beneath their feet.

The ship heaved and shuddered sideways several times before settling, and Padmé felt like she wanted to sit down just until her insides could stop shaking from side to side, and when she stumbled over to the bed she reached out to comb her fingertips very lightly through Leia’s dark hair. It was getting long again; she’d soon have to ask her daughter whether she’d prefer to grow her hair out some more or cut it short.

Padmé’d always worn her hair extra long, in part because she’d spent a few years in the formal royal hairstyles, and also because of the discussion she’d had with the others. Short hair when she’d worn it long all her life would mark her out as someone uneasy, and uneasy faces always drew more attention. At least there was an entire galaxy of styles to wear long hair in.

As for Leia, though, Padmé wanted her to have a choice. There had been those months in which both Luke and Leia had worn their hair in the same unstyled, practical crop; there had been those months in which Leia had worn all kinds of braids in her hair.

Padmé stroked her thumb over the ridge of Leia’s spine, and hoped for a few more minutes of quiet. 

When she looked up again Sabé was getting to her feet and heading back towards the cockpit.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours did, in her silent contemplation of these two lives. Lives she’d held within her, lives she’d lay her life down for -- and it had almost come to that once or twice in the years on the move.

Luke, who fussed over his clothes and had recently demanded to learn how to weld things together. Leia, who tugged on her sleeves when she was upset and turned her nose up at purple-colored food.

Again the freighter rocked from side to side, mercifully brief, and ending with the long drawn-out sigh of engines being turned off. Hissing and clanking from all sides, even from beneath her feet.

Luke woke first, suddenly sitting up and blinking bright blue eyes. “Ma,” he said, and took her hand. “Don’t wake Leia up yet.”

“Is she having a good dream?” Padmé asked.

It was still a surprise when Luke turned to contemplate his sister, chubby fingers against his mouth. “No dreams,” he said. “She just feels safe right now.”

“How much of your sister can you sense, and how much of you can she sense?” It wasn’t even the first time that Padmé had asked the question, and she got different answers almost every time.

“We know feelings,” Luke said, eventually. “I feel what she feels even when she feels things I can’t understand. She feels what I feel and she tries to help me when I’m sad or angry.”

“And when you’re lonely,” Padmé murmured, smoothing his hair back. 

“You get lonely too. But you have friends.”

“I miss being home,” she said, and let her son play with the trailing locks of her hair. 

There was silver in those strands, now. 

“A freighter isn’t home?”

“I wasn’t born on one, remember. I was born on a planet.”

Luke nodded, gravely. “So you feel like you are at home on planets.”

“If they’re safe. If they’re nice.” Padmé sighed. 

“Not all planets are safe,” Luke said. “We run from planet to planet sometimes.”

“And for that, Mama is sorry. But she needs to keep you safe. There are beings who might be looking for you, who mean to hurt you and Leia. I can’t let them do that.”

“So you protect us. And we should protect you, too.”

Tears welling in her eyes. “You sound just like someone I knew a long time ago.”

“Really? Was he nice? Was she nice?”

She held him close. “She was -- strong.”

“What happened to her,” Luke asked.

“She became a Queen.”

The bright smile she got for that -- oh, what magnificence. Her son with the bright glowing star of his heart. 

“I don’t want to be a Queen,” said another voice.

Padmé looked at her daughter’s disheveled braids, and reached for the brush. “What do you want to be?”

“Everyone looks at Queens,” Leia said, scrubbing her little hands over her cheeks. “But if everyone’s looking at me I can’t do anything. I want to be a General.”

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Dormé,” Leia said.

“Sabé,” Luke said.

“Generals tell people what to do. Generals save beings. Right?” Leia asked.

“I know one who did,” Padmé said. “Does.”

“Then I want to be like that being.”

“I’ll follow you,” Luke said.

“I know,” Leia said.

And Padmé stilled her hands in her daughter’s hair. She let her emotions out in a soft sigh.

She held her children close.


End file.
